Ice man cometh

I am convinced I did something horribly wrong in a past life, writes Will Davies. I am not even sure if I believe in karma, or comeuppance, or whatever you’d like to call it, but regardless I have hit a strain of bad luck which is blighting my training schedule.
Just as I recover from a hamstring injury, which ‘forced’ me to put my feet up for a year and develop a belly most ale-swillers would be proud of, my ankles are now being ruined by concrete. I wouldn’t be complaining if London’s pavements were made of lovely smooth tarmac – they may as well be paved with gold – but the reality is horrible, uneven, slabs of dirty grey concrete that pave my way to marathon success. Or rather they attempt to trip me at every turn. But it isn’t even their unevenness that is the problem, more that it is the most obtuse, jarring surface to run on. Ice packs are being applied to swollen ankles and physio sessions booked, but with a month to go, nothing short of divine intervention is needed to get me to the start line.
Ends. Word count: 187